


Jar of Mirth

by ThePrincePeach



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: And the Wizard is also brief, Consensual tickling, Harvey only comes in the end for a brief meeting, Sorry if you were excited for more of them :(, Tickling, and the farmer gets to deal with it, group tickle, the junimos are a cute group of lers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22315792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePrincePeach/pseuds/ThePrincePeach
Summary: The farmer had no idea what ‘mirth’ was, let alone where to find a jar of it as the junimos so politely requested.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Jar of Mirth

**Author's Note:**

> This is a tickle fic requested from tumblr! Thanks! This got, really long. Enjoy!
> 
> I'm just using my own farmer, he's a trans man named Clover!

His name was Clover. He was short, with medium length blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and large green eyes behind thick glasses. He was pale in the areas that weren’t exposed by the sun during his long hours of work, small scars littered over his hands from mistakes with tools and battles with the beasts of the mines. He was slender and had minor muscles over his shoulders and arms from the long hours of hard work, as well as muscles over his thighs. They weren’t very rounded but were still there. He, currently, stood in the community center, with a very confused expression on. 

A new tablet, a single new bundle; Of the Soul Bundle. Already, it sounded ominous. A jar of dysphoria, a jar of euphoria, and a jar of mirth were needed. The farmer had no idea what ‘mirth’ was, let alone where to find a jar of it as the junimos so politely requested. Or, any of these for that matter. He scratched his head as he stared at the words on the plate. A jar of mirth. He thought about it too hard as he folded his arms across his chest, a thin, blonde brow being raised upwards slowly. He hasn’t seen that word before. As often as the young man liked to read, he hasn’t read that word before. Maybe it was another magic word? That wizard in the tower would know about magic words. 

On his way out of the community center, he passed by a pair of junimos hidden in the corner. Both wielded feathers, he was sure he brought those the day before, he left the center without another thought to it. 

...

“A jar of mirth?” The Wizard questioned, not looking up from the cauldron as he sprinkled in something silver and glittering. Clover was a man of few words, he nodded with his own eager response. The older man turned his attention to the younger and stared at him, glancing over his face, as if to see if he was being serious or not. "It takes years of study to understand the language of the elementals. To actually speak their language requires a lifetime of devoted effort... But you just need a dictionary, farming fool." Clover frowned with an offended glare, and the Wizard chuckled in response. “Mirth is not a magical word. It is laughter. They want laughter.” 

The farmer paused. Laughter? How would he obtain a jar of laughter? His brows knit together and his arms folded right back over his chest, staring at the cauldron deep in thought. Would he just laugh into a jar? Or get someone else to? He rubbed his chin slowly. The Wizard watched him with a bemused expression, before asking. 

“Are you ticklish?” 

The question caught Clover off guard, enough so to blink a few times as the question set in. His cheeks blushed up pink. The Wizard’s smile grew. 

“You are, aren’t you?” He took a step forward and Clover, almost immediately, took a step back. “Yes, yes you are. That will make this so much easier.” Another step forward. Clover’s heart sunk as he scrambled to take another step back. With a teasing smirk, the Wizard further crept forward, and the farmer continued backward until his back hit the wall and his eyes were wide. The farmer wasn’t ticklish, not anymore. That was childish. And yet, somehow, he still knew it to be true. Did the Wizard see that incident at Dr. Harvey’s with his checkup with the farmer trying his best not to curl up in protection from the gentle prodding fingers of the doc? Or Alex’s unprompted wrestling challenge that ended with the aforementioned sports fan having farmer in a crumpled up mess on the floor, laughing hysterically? Shane’s teasing with the formerly shed chicken feathers? That episode of Abigail and her two entrusted fans working their hardest to get a smile from him those few days ago, which ended up with the farmer nearly entirely exhausted from running and laughing his head off? Surely, surely he saw it. His cheeks flushed red as he watched the purple-haired man step closer and closer. 

Then offered a little bottle from his coat. He continued to smile. 

“Good luck.” He replied, almost cheeky at the reaction he had milked from the poor farmer. Said farmer, with an embarrassed scowl, snatched the bottle and stormed out. 

… 

Clover awkwardly stood outside the door of the community center, his cheeks still pink much to the concern of the town people he passed along the way. He couldn’t ask one of his friends to help him, the idea itself embarrassed him. He can’t imagine trying to explain /why/ to someone either! Oh, yes, hello person I admire and maybe have a crush on. Would you mind, tickling me and putting it in this jar? Thanks. He put a cool hand to his heated cheek and hurried into the building before another soul could see him. 

The junimos peeked around corners when they heard the door close, many of which hid back in the darkness when he walked by. As he walked, he listened to his boots cause the floorboards to creak below him, and the dirt to shift slowly. He rolled the jar between his hands slowly. It was small, thankfully, so it must be easy to fill. Right? 

He wandered up to the tablet and glanced around slowly as he crouched down, and set the emptied jar on it. It glowed brightly for a moment then dimmed down and kept a faint, pulsing glow instead. Clover watched it with interest, and in awe. It always fascinated him, no matter how many times he’s seen it, it was lovely. The farmer reached down to gently touch the tablet, finding it warm surprisingly. His fingertips traced slowly along the edge of the tablet, taking note of the metallic feeling, yet the warmth of it. He watched the glowing stain against his fingers for mere moments before he pulled them away. The farmer smiled faintly and looked over his fingers, then looked back down at the tablet. He paused. A junimo. It stood directly behind the tablet and stared up at Clover with their small, glistening, black eyes. 

Clover had never been so close to one before. To him, the junimos looked like apples. Shiny, jelly-like, candy-coloured, apples. The little stem and equally little arms were still but seemed tense. Clover tilted his head slowly, curiously. Why wasn’t this one running away? 

He then noticed another one peeking around the hut, then a third. He felt something tugging at his jacket and quickly looked down to see a little red one pulling at it. They wanted laughter. Were they going to fill the jar? The blonde felt his cheeks turning red once more as he moved to sit down on the floor. The exchange was wordless, yet he was certain of the goals of the little junimos. Swallowing an anxious lump in his throat as he watched another junimo hurry forward to tug off his jacket, he aided in shrugging it off for them. He wasn’t nervous, per se, perhaps it was excitement. Perhaps it was the ghosting feeling over his nerves already of moves not yet made. He shuddered gently. 

Then his leg was pulled, he tensed up as he looked down and saw another trio of junimos pulling his leg straight out and against the floor. Then the other. Clover glanced backward before leaning back, using the wall for support. Awkwardly, he left his hands folded in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers. They seemed more than eager for something like this to happen, he thought as he watched them tug at the laces of his boots. They came loose slowly and soon enough, his boots were tugged off, leaving behind his socked feet. Size eight and a half, slender and long, with white, cotton socks on. His hands were moved aside by yet another pair of junimos as they dropped on his lap, his own moving nervously to plant by his sides, fingers curling into the grass that grew between the boards. His heart was racing. They seemed to be thinking over their next movements, oh god, were they strategizing? Rolling up his jacket, he shyly lifted his feet for them to set the jacket under them, allowing his ankles to be propped up.

He still couldn’t tell if he was excited or nervous. Not until one made the first move; swiping slowly over the side of his left sole. Oh god- he was still ticklish. His breath hitched and his foot jolted back, his toes curling in what little protection they could offer. The junimo dragged its touch right back up and then back down, its other arm moving alongside the other. They felt like fingers to him, just smaller, and almost stiffer. They reminded him of those handheld game stylus’. 

“Oh no—” He managed to squeak out. 

Another began slowly drawing lines across his right sole, random lines that curved and swayed haphazardly across the fabric of his socked sole. His shoulders shook gently in their tense state, a grin slowly tugging at the corners of his lips in an uncontrollable fashion. Giggles bubbled up from somewhere in his belly and slipped out from his lips as he bit down on his lower lip. His grip on the grass under him tightened slowly, then relaxed quickly, then grabbed once more. He fought back on pulling back his legs despite how much his brain was telling him too. Somewhere, somehow, it actually felt… Nice. Oh, the electric little butterflies running up and down his spine from the horribly light and teasy little tickles were nice. He would never admit it out loud, though. He could never let himself live such a thing down. His face already was a bright red, trailing up to his ears and down the sides of his throat. 

His thoughts were interrupted by a pair of junimos scooting over, their tone mixed between eager and shy. Clover didn’t dare look away, it was bad enough to watch and feel it, he couldn’t imagine not being able to see what was coming next. His feet twitched and wiggled a bit, not able to control those. They were flinches above active decisions. He bit down harder on his lower lip as his giggles sprang out, feeling their evil little touches swipe and draw and itch over his socked soles. Around his arches and heels, over the balls of his soles, even reaching under the space of his toes and the sides of his soles. The touches were so light, making him twitch but not laugh just yet. The flurry of feelings was maddening but also wasn’t. Somehow. 

The farmer was trapped between feelings at this point. 

After what felt like many, many minutes of this, he felt little arms reach under his socks. They began rolling and pulling them off slowly. His hands reached up to cover his mouth, feeling the warm air against his bared heels first. The bare flesh was soft and pale, flushed pink from the warmth and the long walk. For someone always on his feet, they were surprisingly uncalloused and tender. The junimos seemed to appreciate the fact. Their touches resumed, beginning to itch and drag again, more leaning towards his bare heels than before. At the first touch to the bare skin, he jolted back once more, with a surprised, muffled bark of a laugh. He dropped his ankles back down onto the jacket and it gave him momentary relief before the ticklish feelings resumed once more. He laughed again and did his best to fight back from pulling back once more. 

His left sock was pulled upwards further to expose more of his bare sole, revealing more soft, pale skin for their terribly wonderful ticklish feelers. His hands moved from covering his mouth to holding his cheeks, then reaching up to press against his temples. It was getting hard to control himself at that point as he felt the other sock quickly pulled off entirely. With the warm air again, he curled his bare toes slowly, then uncurled them. Like his soles, they were pale and slender, and long. A junimo sat contently on his ankle, moving to nuzzle against the top of his foot, its little feelers brushing slowly over the sides of his sole. Clover burst out into a new wave of giggles and quiet laughter as their feelers itched and skittered across his bare sole and now the top, his toes curling quickly in a weak form of protection. He stole a glance at the jar, and realized, either in shock or in panic or in delight; realized the bottom of the jar had a thin layer of something glowing pink in it. Mirth, he thought. It was working. 

Again, his thoughts were interrupted, as his other sock was peeled off entirely, and something horribly soft brushed down his newly exposed sole. He squeaked and looked back down, flinching back when he realized a junimo had a feather from before, not paying his reaction much mind as the plushy feather swiped slowly up and down his sole. The plumes licked teasingly across his frazzled nerves, giving way to his own laughter quite suddenly. He wrapped his arms around himself as his laughter bubbled out. Another feather joined in alongside the first, flutteringly carelessly under his tightly-curled toes. 

His laughter was shy yet bubbly, such a loud noise was odd coming from the normally quiet farmer. The itchy, spidery, skittery feelers alongside the silky soft and horribly plush feathers were a hellish duo. He couldn’t help his laughter at that point. To his dread – or was it excitement? – he felt a pair of junimos sit on his ankle, and lean against the top of his foot. Their little arms easily snaked between his toes, causing him to squeal and wiggle his foot quickly. His laughter grew in volume and in pitch as he felt their wriggling appendages between such a shockingly sensitive spot. Had anyone ever really touched his soles in the first place? He can’t remember. But he knows /there/ hasn’t been touched. 

One of the junimos wrapped its little arms around a pair of his toes, seemingly hugging them, and pulled at them to uncurl them. Taking the hint, he forced himself to relax them and uncurled them himself. Giving up such a sensitive space, a feather began stroking directly under them. His laughter bounced off the walls of the community center, tears budded in the corners of his tightly closed eyes. His fingers gripped tightly into the fabric of his shirt and his shoulders shook with his uproarious laughter. 

It felt nice. It felt good. To laugh so freely like this, to feel all those little feelings across his soles and toes, sneaking under and between them, even around his ankles, tickling his soft, tender flesh without any means of rhyme or rhythm to get adjusted to; and he was surprisingly loving it. He held his head again and his fingers were lost in his hair, feeling strands stick to his forehead the back of his neck at that point. As if they believed the moving of his arms was some sort of invitation, he felt his shirt opened and another trio of junimos made work with their wonderfully torturous feathers. Feeling their feathers lick and sway over his bare stomach and sides, even trailing up to his ribs, he couldn’t help himself but lift his arms just that much higher to give up more ticklish skin. Their feathers snaked up over his ribs, the tips managing to flutter in his armpits as well. His laughter was loud, his body shook gently with it, not daring to twist and move away. His back arched up, his body was writhing in ticklish delights. 

Clover gripped at his hair as he laughed and grinned uncontrollably, ticklish tears dribbling down his scarlet cheeks, his heart pounding happily in his chest. It wasn’t just wanting this at the current point, it was actually wanting more. Or just wanting it to continue. The feathers were heavenly, their plumes finding every little nerve and tormenting it with devious delight. He felt their feelers sneak into his waistband, teasing over his hips, even dipping into his navel to get him to scream. It worked. He draped his arms across his eyes and laughed hysterically, pressing his back against the wall and pulling at his sleeves to keep from pushing at them. He let out another scream when he felt their feelers itching gently at the tender space between his toes, unable to help himself at that point. 

He stole a peek at the jar. Halfway full. 

Somehow, someway, he was excited about that.

… 

Of course after near hours of delightful torment, and after filling up the jar of mirth to the point of it overflowing quite a while before; he woke up with the anxious doctor leaning over him. Clover blinked slowly, his eyes hazy and sight fuzzy. His cheeks were still warm. He must have exhausted himself, he thought. Harvey sat down slowly on the side of his bed and reached over, pressing the back of his cool hand against Clover’s forehead. The farmer smiled faintly and leaned into it, much to the surprise of the doctor. 

“Ah… Abigail heard your screams during her walk and, and came in to see you on the floor… You had fainted. Are you alright, Clover?” He asked, quietly, as he pulled his hand away. Clover’s smile grew, and with his voice hoarse from previously, he answered, 

“Never better, Harvey.”


End file.
